Humorous stories; Valets -- Fiction; Washington (State) -- Fiction
This person, I repeat, displayed a taste that was faultless, a
knowledge of the peculiar needs of her face and figure that was
unimpeachable. Rather with regret it was I found her to be a Mrs.
Kenner, the leader of the Bohemian set. And then came the further
items that marked her as one that could not be taken up. Perhaps a
summary of these may be conveyed when I say that she had long been
known as Klondike Kate. She had some years before, it seemed, been a
dancing person in the far Alaska north and had there married the
proprietor of one of the resorts in which she disported herself--a man
who had accumulated a very sizable fortune in his public house and who
was shot to death by one of his patrons who had alleged unfairness in
a game of chance. The widow had then purchased a townhouse in Red Gap
and had quickly gathered about her what was known as the Bohemian set,
the county families, of course, refusing to know her.
After that first brief study of her I could more easily account for
the undercurrents of bitterness I had felt in Red Gap society. She
would be, I saw, a dangerous woman in any situation where she was
opposed; there was that about her--a sort of daring disregard of the
established social order. I was not surprised to learn that the men of
the community strongly favoured her, especially the younger dancing
set who were not restrained by domestic considerations. Small wonder
then that the women of the “old noblesse,” as I may call them, were
outspokenly bitter in their comments upon her. This I discovered when
I attended an afternoon meeting of the ladies’ “Onwards and Upwards
Club,” which, I had been told, would be devoted to a study of the
English Lake poets, and where, it having been discovered that I read
rather well, I had consented to favour the assembly with some of the
more significant bits from these bards. The meeting, I regret to say,
after a formal enough opening was diverted from its original purpose,
the time being occupied in a quite heated discussion of a so-called
“Dutch Supper” the Klondike person had given the evening before, the
same having been attended, it seemed, by the husbands of at least
three of those present, who had gone incognito, as it were. At no time
during the ensuing two hours was there a moment that seemed opportune
for the introduction of some of our noblest verse.
And so, by often painful stages, did my education progress. At the
country club I played golf with Mr. Jackson. At social affairs I
appeared with the Flouds. I played bridge. I danced the more dignified
dances. And, though there was no proper church in the town--only
dissenting chapels, Methodist, Presbyterian, and such outlandish
persuasions--I attended services each Sabbath, and more than once had
tea with what at home would have been the vicar of the parish.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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